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pyromaniac.
    “Yes,” I sighed. “Maryanne lives in the neighborhood right next to the park where they shoot off the fireworks. She told mewe can see them easily from her backyard. It will be so nice not to have to deal with all the crowds at the park!”
    “Good, because I want to see the fireworks.”
    “I know.” I sighed again. God, can he be any more demanding? I didn’t know it then, but he was actually training me on how to deal with our future children someday.
    “And why did we need to get this dressed up?” the Hubs asked, tugging on his “good” (aka clean) shorts, which I’d made him put on.
    “You’re not even that dressed up! You’re wearing a pair of shorts that required a bit of ironing. Relax. I’m the one in a dress! I just wanted us to look nice. Maryanne is very professional and she would be a great mentor for me at the office. I need to suck up to her a bit. I have no idea what her friends will be like, but just once in my life I would like to make a good first impression. My mother taught me that you can never be overdressed, but you can be under dressed.”
    We rang the doorbell and a woman with bright red hair wearing the tiniest star-spangled bikini I’ve ever seen up close and personal answered the door. Sure, you see those types of bathing suits in Sports Illustrated or something, but they’re almost always on toned, tanned, perfectly styled, and airbrushed twentysomething models. This one was tied around a fifty-year-old piece of rawhide that had been left out too long in the sun. The only thing that didn’t sag on her body was her boobs. Her huge fake breasts looked like small beach balls glued to her chest. Holy crap!
    “Maryanne?” I asked cautiously. Maybe Maryanne was on the phone closing a hot deal on an all-in-one scanner copier fax machine and this was her sister, whom she’d just picked up from the plastic surgeon’s office.
    “Joslyn!” Maryanne slurred, enveloping me in a bear hug. “Of course it’s me!”
    I choked on the fumes emanating from her. It was a combination of coconut tanning oil, Jell-O shots, and body odor. “It’s Jen, actually,” I corrected her.
    “Right! Jen. So glad you could come! Come on in and meet the gang. You’re so late!”
    “Well, you said we should come anytime. We wanted to come in time to see the fireworks.”
    “Cool. That makes sense. Well, you missed a helluva day. We’ve just been playing in the pool and drinking and doing Jell-O shots and having a lot of fun. I’m sorry you missed it. But you know what? You’re here now. And now you can play! Did you bring a swimsuit?” she asked, looking me up and down.
    “No. You didn’t mention you had a pool.”
    “I didn’t? Oh well, yeah, I do. And a hot tub!”
    “It’s okay, I don’t really like to wear a swimsuit.”
    “I hear ya! You guys can totally skinny-dip. You won’t be the first naked butts in my pool!” she cackled.
    “I can’t swim!” the Hubs said quickly. It was a half-truth. The Hubs is a terrible swimmer.
    “Ah, whatever! Come on in!” Maryanne ushered us through her immaculate house, where professional family photos hung on the walls. A picture of Maryanne and three teenagers, all subtly color-coordinated and posing in a wheat field, hung over the sofa. Another picture of Maryanne and the three teenagers playfully frolicking together in jeans and white T-shirts hung over the piano. In the kitchen a huge photo magnet dominated the refrigerator. This one was Maryanne in her signature red power suit leaning casually against our company’s most popular color copier. When I saw that one I nudged the Hubs and whispered, “That’s the real Maryanne!”
    “Sorry, Jen, but I think this might be the real Maryanne,” hewhispered back, pointing at Maryanne’s tanned derriere hanging out of her thong. My eyes! Her swimsuit is a thong!
    “Look who I found!” Maryanne called as we stepped out onto the patio. “It’s Joslyn and her hubby!”
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